November's/December's theme:"We diverge and I collapse into my bed/And you are shoved awkwardly into my head" A Separate Lid Behind Closed Eyes

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Jason recommends the album, American Weekend by Waxahatchee

Extra doses and double shots - December 13, 2021
Half a life ago - December 12, 2021
Buggy - November 27, 2021
When We Two Parted - November 25, 2021
Catfish - November 22, 2021

January 05, 2002 // 8:53 a.m. // Why do I put up with this?

This is what I had to deal with yesterday from The Oddities. It's what makes me wonder if it's really worth hanging out with them most of the time, because although it usually doesn't get this bad, it usually degenerates to the same tired fights.

Playing with, squeezing intensely and the wrapping around the finger of the huge novelty dice hanging from the rear view mirror, leaving the dice that can only be found on the other side of town disfigured and lopsided. Yet when we touch his graduation tassel and cause one of its strings to become longer than the rest, it's as if World War III was on the verge of breaking out.

Telling me not to say, "I don't know" when he asks where I want to eat then scoffing when I do suggest something. Later than night it was up to him to make the decision and all he could do was turn to me for help. I refused to do it. He can't make up his own mind whether it was playing pool, ("What ball should I hit?) shopping at the mall, ("Which necklace should I buy?") or buying a coat (Which coat looks better? Does this one look good?)

He's just like my sister in that he'll ask me and others to make the decision of which one they like better to help him decide. He's the only person I've known to spend twenty minutes choosing between a chocolate donut and another when he could have both for $1. I might take a while to decide on something, but at least the decision will be mine and not someone else's.

Scrawling on the window small little designs and knowing very well he's doing it, evident by the fact that if you don't pay attention to him doing it, he'll look over at you, wait for a response, then resume even more and repeat the pattern. Finally, you'll tell him to stop, and he'll look at you surprised like he didn't know he was doing it.

The barrage of insults toward one of the few things that meant anything to me in high school, our literary magazine. With a matching t-shirt of the magazine underneath my WSU sweatshirt, I had to listen as the two of them a) figured out who T.E.N.T. was by reading one of the poems (my worst one in there, and it's the only one they read) and asking me if it was about her. Like the song with the same working title, I lied and told them no. b) the comment that "all of the poems are written by the same people." c) the comment that "the only thing good in the book was the drawings and the photographs" d) the comment that everyone was a bad writer and were trying to be too deep. e) the comment that "I could write a poem, wipe my ass with it, submit it and get it in there."

This entire entry thus far took place in a span of less than three minutes and seven blocks. I know, because I remember the exact spot we were when each of them happened.

We headed to the mall, and I made one wrong turn, and they jump all over my case. First, I invite anyone who remembers downtown Salt Lake seven years ago to come back and try to maneuver around the new traffic lights and the Traxx trains causing everyone to not only drive slowly next to them but to drive four blocks north out of your way, four blocks west out of your way and then eight more blocks to get back to where you made the wrong turn in the first place plus four more blocks to get from the wrong turn area to the mall. It's a good three miles for missing one street, the last that you can turn left on safely to get to the mall.

Yeah, I can't explain it well, but come to Salt Lake and see it yourself. The rest of the world is coming here, why not you?

I've put up with all of this and I've taken them to the mall and the bank. As soon as we pull into a fairly good parking spot, B tells me he left his coat at Wendy's.

So he belittles our literary magazine, acts as a catalyst to our argument, causes us to go miles out of our way to Media Play, makes fun of me in my dance photos and then only after we've found a parking place does he expect me to pay to exit, leave, drive more miles out of our way as we exit the mall and drive down the only two streets in the city where we have to compete and drive side by side with the light rail to go back to a restaurant that wouldn't be so difficult to get to had we decided to eat at the one near our house like I had suggested.

To make a long night feel shorter, we finally came back to my house to look for the face to my stereo that they're upset that I can't find. Had we stuck to the driving schedule, I'd have been driving one of the last two times and we'd have music in the car. As it is, they kept saying, "I hope you didn't lose it." Well duh, I lost it, but not for good. You usually don't lose anything for good. Besides, I'm content listening to the radio on headphones in the car. You're the ones who need the music.

We went to G's house and he brought speakers so we could listen to the mp3 player through the small cube-like computer speakers. I don't know why we bothered to spend at least thirty minutes searching for the stereo face and another twenty at G's as he went to get his speakers because he also brought out his portable TV which drowned out his low powered speakers. "I brought it because I want to watch The Simpsons at ten." After enjoying the show and playing phone tag with Jesse, we headed to the same billiards/bowling alley we've gone the last three times we've hung out.

They played, we watched. Then, G and I played with Jesse on his team, and Chad on mine. Needless to say, the virgin bowlers were terrible, and we relied on Jesse and Chad to carry our respective teams. A half hour later, we played a solo game that resulted in them making us (translation: me) pay for the table.

While this was going on, Domo, B and Brian (who also has a crush on Randi and has a picture of her in his wallet) all played and were hustled on another table by two girls who may as well call themselves Wesley Snipes and Woody Harrelson because the plot of the game and getting the others to play was just like the movie White Men Can't Jump.

The three were bragging about how much the girls loved them was almost enough to make me break out in laughter. Besides being very unattractive, they were annoying as all hell. All they did was talk. Apparently, they'll be there next week or today, and they'll resume their game.

I'm mentally recapping all of B's crushes and flirtations and I'm not seeing a single one that he can justifiably say is better looking, has a better personality or is just a better person than Pea Soup, 2N's, Polo, Randi (apparently), or Kristie.

But who am I to criticize, right? Had I done the same thing, they would have jumped all over me about how unattractive she was, but I'm expected to say nothing.

Bullshit.

Pure Bullshit.

I'm just upset right now. I know I'll feel better later on after some sleep and after finding the things I've lost.

Jason

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